


a hundred years

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [45]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bleach AU, Gen, Sportsfest 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: In his fifth year in Seireitei, Shinsuke goes to the eastern gate and unsheathes the sword on his right hip, turns it over slowly so the blade glints in the morning sun."go home already. i can't bear to fight you more than i already have."





	a hundred years

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sportsfest 2018 Bonus Round 4: Caps | [originally posted here](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/11674.html?thread=2279834#cmt2279834)

In his first year in Seireitei, Shinsuke learns to watch. It’s not all that different from his grandmother’s tea room in here. A ritual is a ritual, whether it is a _kidou_ incantation, a noble hierarchy, or something simpler he carries in his heart. The tea stains he will never get out of his fingers, the needle pinpricks that mark him for a commoner. He learns that his twin swords are quick to bristle at any perceived insult to him. He learns that he can wield his patience like any other weapon, and that it can be the most powerful blade.

 

* * *

 

In his second year in Seireitei, someone tells Shinsuke to go home already.

Later, in the practice yard, he moves through his drills to the beat of drums in the distance. Somewhere beyond the high walls, there is a battle raging. It is the first time he will see the white of a captain’s cape, blood on a _zanpakutou_ and the heavy responsibility of being kind, what it means to fight in the name of protection.

He flows from stance to stance like the wind, finishing the sequence from beginning to end and starting from the top again. He does this till his muscles are sore and the moon rises.

Later, Aran asks what he will do about that nobleman’s son.

“Nothing,” says Shinsuke. They are in their quarters and he is polishing his swords with one hundred strokes each. There is a humming from the blade under his hands that sounds like a purr.

“Nothing more,” he corrects himself, for he is already fighting in his own way.

 

* * *

 

In his fifth year in Seireitei, Shinsuke goes to the eastern gate and unsheathes the sword on his right hip, turns it over slowly so the blade glints in the morning sun.

He has never asked it, nor its twin, to tell him their names. He thinks he has heard them in his sleep nonetheless. Whispers bright as needles, dreams of a forest and a shrine with rice grains scattered all over the stone floor. His grandmother had told him always to leave food out for the foxes. He understands now.

“Atsumu,” he murmurs, and before his eyes the blade transforms, joyous, awash with a golden light that sears itself in his memory forever.

His other sword is silent, but he knows it is listening. He reaches for it, and calls it by its name.

 

* * *

 

In his sixth year in Seireitei, Shinsuke receives a uniform.

It doesn’t take more than a week before someone challenges him to his first duel. He accepts, gives Atsumu first blood, and lets Osamu deal the finishing blow. The next day, his opponent gives up his seat. Shinsuke refuses it. It is his first duel, and his last.

 

* * *

 

In his twentieth year in Seireitei, he is sweeping the floors when a shadow crosses his doorway, fleeting and sudden, and disappears again; the Fifth Division’s vice-captain does not knock, and his _shunpo_ has always been swifter and quieter than anyone else in their generation.

“You can come in, Kozume,” says Shinsuke.

With a shimmer in the air, Kozume Kenma materialises on the other side of the room, slouching on the floor against the sliding screen door with one knee up to his chest. He tucks his hair behind his ear and looks up at Shinsuke.

“I didn’t want to step on the floor where you’ve already swept. Here. I brought you what you asked for.”

He holds out his hand. There’s a charm shaped like a fox’s tail dangling from his fingers, and Shinsuke sets his broom by the wall and goes over to take it. It is soft to the touch. When Shinsuke tucks it in his palm and curls his hand over it, a warmth like a crackling fireplace envelopes his entire being.

“This is an incredible protection charm,” he murmurs in admiration. “Thank you.”

Kenma shrugs lightly. “It was a fun challenge to make. I wove some energy lines in a different way so it’ll be stronger in Rukongai. Just hang it over your grandmother’s door.”

Shinsuke nods and slips the charm in his pocket, watching Kenma fidget where he’s sitting. He knows Kenma will stay awhile, but not if he is asked, so wordlessly, he sets out a tray of sweets and apple tea, and goes back to his chores.

 

* * *

 

In his hundredth year in Seireitei, his third seat asks Shinsuke why he never accepts any more duels, and Shinsuke lets Aran cuff Suna on the back of his head and say, _that’s none of your business_ , lets him get a little sullen before he smiles and tells him, not all duels are fought with swords. Not all fights are over so quickly. There are things worth protecting that will take more than a flash of his blades.


End file.
